


Opera of Blood

by juicedfox



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Affairs, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood and Violence, Dark, Drama, F/F, F/M, M/M, Romance, Seduction, Vampires, implications of sex, not all the ships are actually final, some of the ships are one sided i’m sorry, some ships are just for plot’s sake, some ships are very minor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juicedfox/pseuds/juicedfox
Summary: Moscow is dark yet so elegant, it enchants Natasha, filled with secrets and mysteries, she longs for Andrey in the bloody mess that surrounds her.
Relationships: Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova, Andrei Nikolayevich Bolkonsky/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova, Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova, Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin, Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina, Marya "Mary" Nikolaevna Bolkonskaya/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova, Marya Dmitryevna Akhrosimova/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina, Pyotr "Pierre" Kirillovich Bezukhov/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter I

Stilled against the window, Natasha’s body acted almost lifelessly as she slept. Though with a quick bump on the road her head smacked against frame, awakening her with a groan. Sonya chuckled at her still sleepy cousin and the younger girl huffed, her eyes filled with annoyance and boredom as she squinted at her friend. Natasha gently palmed the sore spot upon her head and and whined, “Are we there yet? I’m quite fatigued”

“Fatigued? You’ve simply hit you head on the pane, you’re fine.”

“Oh hush, Sonya!”

The elder cousin could only snicker at the way Natasha flustered about.

“We’re already here, in Moscow, Natasha.”

Gasping at the words, Natasha flung her view from Sonya and towards the window, her black eyes widened and an open mouthed smile formed upon her face. 

The elegant colors of scarlet laced amongst the shadowy towers that stood sharp and tall were otherworldly to the young woman. To her, the city of Moscow was enchantingly mysterious, and pleasing to the eye despite the cold air biting her through the carriage. Her palms pressed up against the window as she smiled, her wide eyes drinking in the view of the buildings coated in snow and ice.

“Natasha, is it.. covered well?”

“Hm?”

Turning her gaze to Sonya, she nodded, “I think it’s good enough?”

She inspected the area once more, “A touch of powder would help it a bit.”

“I don’t think I have enough time… Look outside..”

They were there already. At their godmother’s house. Marya Dmitryevna Akhrosimova’s house.

“I’m sure she'll understand…”

Sonya’s brows furrowed, a stern look was painted upon her face that flushed from the frosted air, “She’s not a very pleasant woman.”

“Don’t say that Sonya!”

“You know it’s true.”

With that, the taller Rostova cousin graced out of the silvery adorned carriage, her gloved hand shooed away the young man that attempted to help her out, her narrowed eyes opened up as to greet the redhead that stood almost menacingly at the doorstep. Natasha followed, almost tripping in the process of trudging amongst the crisp snow towards the manor. Her dark eyes fleeted upwards to see Marya let out a scowl she hoped that she had imagined.

_Shit._

While one cousin led the way with a skillfully fake smile, the other tensed in the cold with her frost bitten cheeks barely allowing a meek smile. Their eyes stricken with flicks of snow here and there, the pathway was only several yards but as the paved downwards to the woman clad in crimson it felt like they were in some sort of frigid hellscape, with the devil awaiting at the end with a sort of jagged grin and narrowed eyes. Deep cobalt eyes that pierced through your soul the way only a demon could.  
Natasha shuddered, but not from the winter that surrounded her.

With a sudden rush, the girls felt Marya welcome them in with a swift yet well mannered movement. The redhead smiled, “Ah. Natalya Ilyinichna Rostova!” 

Her blue eyes grazed across to look at the older cousin up and down and almost said the words with a spit, “Sofya Alexandrovna Rostova.”

Natasha gulped and raised her brows as she smiled back, “It’s so great to be in Moscow at last, to see you again. Marya.”

The redhead hummed as she turned back to her goddaughter, “Mhm, It’s a pleasure to have you here. Do come in.”

Natasha looked at Sonya, her dark eyes reflected some sort of conflict but warmth as well. They stepped in as they listened to the older woman speak with such poise.

“It’s lovely to have the company of women that aren’t such, gossips and hussies.”

She swirled around back to glare at the young Rostova women, “Women who do not, play games of secrets and make trouble for amusement.”

Widening her eyes, Natasha could only nod subtly with her smile that twitched at the side of her lips, “Yes of course.”

Sonya, however, remained unphased and blinked at the tall grand dame, with her polite grin. Her walnut colored eyes looked around the home as Marya guided them. She sighed as she felt the warmth settle into her bones once more, the fireplace crackled as the servants brought in their luggage and rushed about, and ever so quietly too. Looking about, she listened to the godmother’s words carefully, that sharp tongue clearly spoke with structure and sophistication and tiny droplets of welcoming kindness. Continuing about, she saw how the woman gave her short glances of conflict, her scarlet brows furrowed here and there, but never making eye contact with Sonya.

Natasha’s cheeks warmed up and she took a liking to the way her godmother’s mannerisms. The woman was old yet remained in such good health and beauty, though two white streaks that looked similar to Marya’s skin color showed, one slightly thicker than the other, her sharp cheekbones made up for that. 

“It really is a joy to stay here while we wait for our fiancé’s, Marya.”

“Ah yes, your engagement to Prince Andrey, that’ll do the entire family some good after.. What happened.”

Sonya could only look down and keep up her painful smile, her eyes drifted to the fireplace.

_Warm and tender…_

Natasha looked to the side and at her dear friend.  
_I’m sorry._

Though Sonya didn’t see the pleading in the younger woman’s eyes, she stared at the crisp flames that waved over one another with such cleanliness, then finally turning upwards to look at Marya grinning out, “Well. This will be just perfect for you both, some time to adjust to Moscow before a permanent residence. Much to do for you both, much for you to see…”

“Like the opera!”

Marya’s nails stabbed into her left wrist, eliciting a gasp, “Yes! The opera.”

She dreaded the opera, with its flourishing gossip and society’s running mouths, and those women that flaunted themselves so shamelessly, _that woman_.

Clearing her throat she let the thought of whore drift away, “Well I-“

There was a subtle snicker from Sonya, Natasha nudged her quickly. The godmother knew very well they were judging her pause in words, they knew she was thinking of something, but what?

Marya hummed a bit more harshly, “I suppose I’ll let you settle into the rooms, dinner will be soon…”

As the girls rushed towards the stairs, the grand dame interrupted.

“Oh but Sonya…”

The auburn haired woman turned around, her hand on the dark wood railing.

“You must be careful, with how you smile…”

The terrible dragon shifted to look over her shoulder with an icy lour, that had the slightest hints of a chuckle.

_“For your smile reveals your true nature, dear Sonya.”_


	2. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw  
> \- alcohol  
> \- abuse  
> \- minor mentions of blood

Pacing back and forth in the guest room Sonya swam in her mind, her head shot up at Natasha, her hazel eyes in a state of worry, “Marya… She knows?”

“I would hope not, unless…”

The auburn-haired woman glared at her cousin, “Unless, _what_?”

Natasha’s gentle eyes lowered, her soft fingers fiddled amongst each other as she inhaled sharply through her nose. Her docile state was frightened by the tension in her frustrated cousin’s movements and voice. She huffed and looked up, at last, only to be greeted with Sonya’s puzzled and dismayed expression, with pale hands that outstretched like talons as her nails grasped the air. Attempting to cling on the bedpost, the auburn-haired woman furrowed her brows, swishing away from her dear friend as she spoke with a slight snarl, “Natasha, what are you withholding.”

The meek young woman whispered weakly, “There was a letter. It… It was laid upon my father’s desk amongst other ramblings.”

Snapping her head up once more, Sonya groaned, her cousin looked down once more as she left marks upon the dark wood post, scratches that almost resembled that of a menaced hawk and her nails let out a hiss as she did so. Natasha jumped and squinted towards the oak floor.

“I didn’t open it! I… I didn’t have time… But... “

_”But what, Natasha?”_

With a sorrowful look spread across her umber coloured face that no longer had the gleam of sapphire’s upon her cheeks but rather began to flush with a hue similar to that of the night sky, Natasha swallowed her fear but still trembled.

“It was addressed to Marya, and had the marking for private view…”

Sonya sighed, her hand unlatched from the bedpost and pressed against her temple, her cousin cautiously padded towards her. Natasha’s hands graced upon Sonya’s shoulders, “That letter could be addressed with any reason of concern… You shouldn’t fret it's filled with detail of your condition.”

“Oh… I have plenty of reason to be. Oh, Natasha… I dread our stay here.”

In an attempt to cheer the dulled Rostova woman up, the younger of the two tsked, “Sonya, you mustn't dwell on this, there’s a dinner we’ve to attend to. Glumly, Sonya nodded and stood up, “I ought to do your hair then, here, sit.”

Pale palms placed themselves upon Natasha’s head of fluffy hair, Sonya hummed as she laced her fingers through the ebony dense locks, her cousin simply looked in the mirror and focused on the way Sonya’s brows were gently focused upon properly doing her hair. Seemingly lost in her own world, but yet hadn’t been as her hazel eyes occasionally glanced towards the mirror to look at her own ginger hair. Its colouration had become less sunset-like and more subtle, almost like coral. She opened her mouth ever so slightly as she peeked once more at her reflection, she had only wanted to see her teeth, and she was so close to getting a glimpse but Natasha had let out a gasp. The younger girl had seen them first and now swished around to look at her cousin who promptly finished doing her hair. 

“Sonya, could I see them.”

“No, Natasha.”

Those sharpened teeth were only a stinging reminder of what she was. Hiding her pain, Sonya chuckled as Natasha huffed and whisked herself away to sort through her dresses. She giddily glided through the assortment and raised a brow towards her cousin as she lifted up one dress. The redhead looked away from the mirror and stared blankly upon the sleek, pure white clothing, usually, she would laugh at how Natasha only wore one colour, that one snowy, fine as silk colour, but she only had a small smirk on display. Her eyes were tired and wished to fixate on the mirror again but she instead made her way to the bedpost to help her friend.

“You should wear the white one.”

“Oh hush!”

“Alright alright, wear the long-sleeved one, Marya would scold you for hours if you wore something so scandalous on our first dinner in Moscow.”

“Do you know where exactly? Or are we having it here, that wouldn’t be very exciting…”

“We’re to go to Count Bezukhov’s home…”

Widening eyes gleamed and Natasha smiled, that sapphire glow had returned to her cheeks, “To that lovely mansion we passed by? That’s where dear Pierre lives?”

Sonya nodded, her fingers began to trace the scar she left on the bedpost, her hazel eyes burned in her desire to look at the mirror. Her head slowly turned until Marya’s voice rang out in an alarming holler from downstairs, “Twenty minutes, we leave soon! I trust when I see you, your outfits are _appropriate_!”

With that the young women rushed about, Sonya sighed as she wished she was able to look upon the mirror to see her fangs. Her hands delicately helped Natasha into her snowy white dress, though her own outfit was a dress of creamy hues, it wasn’t yellow, instead had hints of a more peach colour. Her hands carefully applied a powder to her neck where the small scars were, two small markings, it could’ve easily been mistaken for a snake’s bite but the area it was in gave away its true meaning. Sonya was lucky enough for her smile to not be so sharp, though she pressed against her fangs to check if they hadn’t grown. They hadn’t, she exhaled.

* * *

Waiting already on the porch, Marya stood with her narrowed eyes, she escorted the two Rostova women out into the snow and into the carriage, the meek footboy closed the door and let out a tiny murmur that turned into a squeak once he saw the grand dame glaring at him with her piercing cobalt coloured eyes. Turning her head towards the two younger ladies that sat in front of her, a smirk grew upon her face as she clasped her gloved hands together, making Natasha fidget slightly.

“Well. It’s been an awful long time since I’ve seen you two. It’s good to have fresh faces here in Moscow.”

Natasha formed a soft smile, “Yes… It’s nice to see Moscow again. My things have changed…”

Chuckling, Marya nodded as her benign goddaughter peered out the carriage window in awe at the speckles of snow that danced about in the evening air.

“Indeed they have, there’s more than snow to gawk at, Natasha.”

The young woman turned her gaze back to her godmother, “Of course.”

The scarlet haired woman turned to look at Sonya, “Dear, how have you been these days?”

Sonya looked up from her gloved palms, her hazel eyes gleamed bittersweetly, Marya could tell the girl wasn’t having a delightful time.

“I see.”

She let the older Rostova cousin have her rest in the carriage, Sonya turned her head down again, her almond eyes examined the detail of the cream coloured fabric that pressed against her hands. It was odd how she found those gloves so intriguing yet so dull at the same time, though she noticed all the fine lacy details among the ends that trailed up and along the seams. Flexing the hand she felt the silk curve and bend so easily, its folds rippled out as her other gloved fingers soothed the stress marks she had created. Her eyes glanced towards her cousin who seemed to be looking out the window once more. Natasha ever so loved the snow, it enchanted her, she pressed her covered palms against the window lightly and admired how her glove blended in with the white frost that coated Moscow. She believed it all to be so elegant and her ash brown eyes gazed longingly, the naive young woman wished she was a young girl once more. The carriage passed by an iced-over lake and she could’ve sworn it cracked when Marya spoke once more.

“I suppose we do indeed have to have you two fitted for some new dresses soon. Perhaps on Sunday or Monday afternoon.”

Natasha’s face turned from the window and had a look of glee on display, her brows raised but soon furrowed, “What will we do tomorrow then?”

“Saturday evening is for the opera, dear.”

With delight, Natasha beamed once more, “Oh! The opera is a remarkable place, isn’t it?”

Marya sucked her cheek and begrudgingly let out a hum of approval, she truly did detest the opera, but she knew she had to go for appearance’s sake for Natasha and Sonya. They would enjoy the buzz of that place ever so much, it reminded her of when she was youthful, the thought of her younger days made the woman sigh.

“Hmm, it seems we’ve still got some time before we arrive at Count Bezukhov’s. I’ll let you have your quiet for the rest of the ride, to calm your nerves.”

* * *

“Hélène.”

Swirling around to look at the man that called her name, she furrowed her brows.

“Yes, Pierre?”

“They’ll be here shortly, please…”

The woman raised a brow as she slinked in the darkness of the staircase, her voice spoke with a rasp that almost seemed like a growl towards her husband, “I know. You’ll find I can behave myself on my own terms. But do not beg of me to act like a dog.”

“Hélène…”

Rushing out of the shadows she was inches away from Pierre’s face, she sneered at the pitiful man and looked him up and down before backing away, tutting at how he still somehow looked dishevelled moments before dinner. His droopy eyes had a more than usual tired look to them, the colour of his iris’ was like the fog or smoky ashes of dull weather, she would never admit to how she missed the vivid forest green they used to be. Hélène truly did believe her husband was a miserable man, unsalvageable by herself, perhaps one day he’d be pieced together by someone new, but that day was yet to come. Instead, she took note of his ruffled hair that had the colour of driftwood, all wavy just like it too. And how, his glasses now rested upon the bridge of his roman nose, as well as how pale he had become in the past few years. Her sandy palm pressed against his cheek with a gentleness. But she couldn’t help it, she had the option not to inflict agony upon them both, but her dark eyes looked into his sorrowful ones, and her hand traced against his beard, to the back of his nape. Tenderness turned into bitterness as she raked her nails against his flesh and she knew what was coming next. He thrust her away and sneered back with an agonizing chuckle, “I hoped you would at least, show some sort of morality…”

“Not this time. You invited plenty of guests for this silly little dinner… While knowing of what we experience?”

“You do it all the time, why hurt me when there is no difference.”

“There _is_ a difference, because when _I_ do it, we do not risk being found out.”

“Still, there was no need to…”

“There was plenty of-”

Hélène had been cut off by his coarse hand, it stung her face but all she could do was chuckle, “You speak of no harm yet you too indulge in whatever this… mess is…”

He looked away, the hand he had used was smeared with the blood she had caused to flow, now it had remnants on her amber cheeks.

“Why was there need to have this dinner?”

“Among the guests is Natalya Rostova and her cousin, Sonya.”

She lifted her head, her ebony eyes had a surge of interest in them, “Oh? The Rostovas…”

Pierre sighed, “Yes and… Marya Dmitryevna…”

Hélène’s eyes widened and the tiniest grin snuck upon her face, “Ah. I see.”

With his brows furrowed and his fingers tensed against them, Pierre glared at his wife, “This is why I…”

“Yes, I understand…”

The man began to soften, “I… I’m…”

“Don’t.”

He looked down, ashamed, and she looked up at him.

“Pierre, clean yourself up, use a comb in that nest of yours.”

He chuckled slightly as his wife moved towards the mirror, her eyes glaring at herself, then proceeded to leave the room in her unstained dress and surge into the dim hallways. Her upturned eyes gazed upon the reflective glass as she entered a new room, her palms pressed against her cheeks that still were stained with the now rosy-hued blood. She wiped it off and began to reapply her makeup, raising her brows and letting herself cool down before proceeding to cover up the bite on her neck; it had healed to become more subtle over the years but still noticeable enough due to her outings with whom she pleased. Opening her mouth she inspected her teeth, letting out a sigh of relief when she saw that they weren’t completely sharp where her fangs laid. She swiftly swished out of the room and spiralled down the staircase, soon followed her tiresome husband and the two glanced at each other for a moment. 

“This dinner isn't for your games with the Dmitryevna woman. It is a welcoming of sorts for the Rostova women.”

Hélène looked to the side with a murmur as Pierre sighed.

* * *

As the carriage came to a stop outside Bezukhov household, Marya stepped out first, opening the carriage door before the servant could do it, smacking him over in the process. She hurriedly muttered out an apology and the Rostova cousins followed behind her as they graced down the path and to the door. Natasha couldn’t help but stare in awe at the home, it was so intricate and magnificent with its structure, so detailed as well, she imagined it was filled with mystery and glamour with every part of its architecture. Her eyes roamed to the entrance where she soon stepped onto floors of briarwood, the inside was coated with more elegantly murky hues, she sighed as the winter air subsided from her cheeks, the fireplace lit her face with a golden glow. Her awes were interrupted by her godmother who narrowed her eyes.

“This way, people will want to speak to you but we’ve to greet Pierre first.”

They nodded and followed her like poised ducklings, so new and fresh-faced with curiosity yet shyly mannered. Sonya was the more confident one out of the two oddly enough, she figured if she acted like there were no secrets, no one would find her to be a shifty figure. 

“Ah! Pierre! Old friend, how are you?”

The host of the home turned to see Marya and smiled, “Oh! Marya, I’m quite well… Is that Natasha and Sonya?”  
The two girls gave a soft smile to the Count, who in return beamed back at them, Sonya catching a glimpse of something she knew she shouldn’t have seen.  
_I must be seeing things…_

“You two have grown plenty since I last saw you, when did you arrive in Moscow?”

Marya nodded and let the two converse with Pierre as she made her way around the pleasant trio, her blue eyes scavenged among the feast of people in the halls, exhaling when her mind was eased by the fact she couldn’t find the Count’s wife. She truly wished to be away from the woman and was glad this dinner hadn’t yet had any regrettable encounters. Her sapphire gaze softened up and she breathed steadily, for once she was at peace in this treacherously enchanting manor. Usually, her blood ran cold and often found herself in peculiar stances when she had her occasional visits here. The grand dame found Pierre to be a noble and well man, she thought of him as a lovely man married unfortunately to a brazen harlot. 

Making her way through the little circles of guests and somehow finding herself upstairs, Marya stood in front of a painting she had seen rarely. Her eyes enjoyed the detailed and intricate image of art that hung upon the shadowed walls. Lifting the glass of wine she had picked up earlier to her lips, she hummed in the blissful silence. She preferred the dimmed place of the Bezukhov household and liked keeping to herself at soirees and dinners, engaging in conversation when needed but always hearing the floating bits of gossip. There were plenty of rumours she had taken note of in her lifetime and believed it all to be foolish games of society.

In her quiet observation, she tensed when she heard a voice press against her ears. 

_Damn that whore._

“Hello, Marya…”

She didn’t dare turn around to face Hélène, but she could feel the woman pressed up against her, those sandy hands wrapping around her waist ever so slowly.

“I’ve missed you…”

Marya didn’t speak a word, she didn’t breath.

“Hmm, Pierre didn’t want me to sulk away with you tonight… After all, those Rostova girls are wondering where you are, aren’t they?”

Hélène pressed her lips against Marya’s neck which in turn made the scarlet haired dame shudder. And as soon as she kissed her skin her essence fleeted, making her way down to the crowded area where many soon gathered for dinner. 

_I detest you._

* * *

The hustle and bustle of the mansion delighted Natasha so, she indulged in the lovely attention shown to her with a fondness, to her it was exciting and giggled politely at every encounter. To Sonya, she found it all a bit anxiety-riddled, perhaps it was because her younger cousin had no reason to fear, no reason to be ratted out in front of society. Though she figured nobody knew except for her dear friend and family, and Natasha would never give her away. Still, Sonya simply gave nods and smiles to those that passed by and didn’t speak so much, she found herself not jealous but relieved that all the talk was directed towards the younger Rostova. Sighing as she finished mindlessly conversing with a stranger, Pierre approached her, “I take you don’t like these dinners so much?”

She chuckled, “It’s been a long day, I do enjoy going out but… This is all a bit much, I don’t mind it but perhaps I’d have a fondness for it if I were my cousin.”

The count gently laughed and raised his brows as he brought a glass of red liquid to his lips, “I suppose so… Though do trust me that this isn’t what Moscow is, there is indeed much more than painfully slow dinners and soirees. I’m sure Marya has plenty planned.”

Sonya nodded, her eyes drifted up to look Pierre directly in the eyes, “The alcohol… Does it really make these things go by faster?”

“Oh. I… I suppose it does… Here, I suppose Marya wouldn’t mind if you had a sip of wine, you’re well of enough age.”

Pierre set his drink down upon a table, but Sonya with her confusion and being unknowledgeable in society’s mannerisms confused his glass as an offer and lifted it to her lips. When he turned around holding a glass of white wine his ash-coloured eyes widened, “Oh Sonya that’s…”

The young woman had already sipped the crimson drink and raised a brow, “I suppose it does take the edge off… Oh! My apologies here.”

She swiftly switched drinks as she realized her mistake and instead sipped from the white wine and smiled, walking off as she heard Natasha and Marya call for her.

Pierre stood there, his brows furrowed as he tried to process what had happened.  
_Perhaps women raised in the countryside have different tastes… How peculiar that she didn’t spit it out or choke on the drink. How queer for Sonya simply swallow blood with no issue…_

* * *

At the table, Marya sat between the Rostova cousins and merely glared at anyone who tried to converse with her, unfortunately, her glaring strategy didn’t quite work on one woman, Hélène. Who brought it upon herself to taunt the grand dame with words and motions the two understood. Marya’s icy stare only made the Countess grin, eventually, Hélène’s subtle glances subsided and the elderly redhead was at ease and dined in peace while others around her engaged in frivolous speaking and idle gossip. 

The gossip didn’t irritate Natasha though, it truly wrapped itself in her and she bubbled at all the details of society, she still found herself shy to it all and preferred to nod her head along in fear of letting the wrong words slip from her mouth. Marya raised a brow and whispered in her ear, “Natasha, dear, don’t get too caught up, these tongues can turn on one quick…” The girl looked at her godmother and understood, sighing as she picked at the remains on her plate but still lifting her head when her name was addressed by someone at the table.

Sonya took another sip from the white wine Pierre had given her, so as Marya turned her head to look at the older Rostova, her brows rose, “I see you took a liking to the wine.”

“It’s alright. I suppose I’m just not used to it… Although I did mistakenly drink from the Count’s glass earlier, it did taste rather nice, yet odd…”

Marya nearly choked on her glass and took a moment to regather herself.

_Shit._

“I see… Well, everyone has their preferences.”

The conversation took a turn around them as the grand dame widened her eyes slightly at the mention of vampires. The gossip had stirred into talk of vampirism, and the older woman cursed Moscow society’s need to talk about every little detail and thread of news.

Hélène smiled, “Oh yes… Terrible rumour of vampires in Moscow… I may frequent church more often… I do hear you detest those creatures, Marya?”

The gaze of guests rested on Marya who sighed, “They are fickle things... I don’t have a fondness for them.”

Countess Bezukhov took a sip from her drink, “I can’t imagine the hatred you bear for them, after one killed your husband all those years ago…”

Hélène was very much playing with her rival’s tempter as the redhead cleared her throat and smoothed her hair back one more and gripped the table, “I do hope that hunters extinguish them all”

Scowling right at the woman, “I do mean all of them, Hélène.”

Staring at her palms blankly again, Sonya gulped and Natasha gave a weak smile as the gossip moved onto other things, Pierre groaned and stared at his wife with pain in his eyes. Hélène simply grinned like the cheshire cat as her ebony eyes bore into Marya’s cold blue ones. The godmother pulled her glare away and looked down, her soul and mind tired of how frustrating that woman was to make a scene. Her thoughts drifted downwards as Pierre concluded the dinner with a sigh and a clink of utensils and his glass.

* * *

“Hélène...”

The Countess glared at her husband in the shadows, her eyes held some bitterness and her tongue was about to spit salt. Pierre looked away and his chest heaved, his ashen eyes were worn and tired and he shook his head, he knew it was no use to start up an argument with the bittersweet woman. His hand buried into his dark hair and his fingers traced the waves back with whatever emotion he had left as he looked back up at his irritated wife.

Hélène’s stare burned into his heart and he felt quite drained, neither wanted to brew up a storm. Instead, she sulked in the darkness and went to the lonesome hall to look at the painting she had cornered the grand dame in. That dreadful painting of herself and her husband, looking like the smoke that rose from burnt flowers and tired drunken nights. That’s what they were, ashen petals and spilt blood.


	3. Chapter III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw  
> • mentions of blood

As the carriage ride back to the Akhrosimova household was dreadful in Sonya’s brewing mind, the young vampire glared upon her silk gloves again. Her hazel eyes traced the sewn patterns at the edges and breathed in the creamy colour. Sonya was one for conversation as Marya could see. That carriage ride was just as aching to Marya as it was to Sonya, the godmother’s wrists crackled as she reached to place a sharp finger to the window, making the older Rostova cousin flinch. Her red hair looked like blood in the moonlight, that’s what the vampiric woman noticed about her host. It’s curls were like swirling pools of the liquid that released when one bit down too hard on a tongue, or perhaps when nails sink into skin with a delightful scraping. Sonya was caught staring by her cousin’s godmother and flustered to look out the window, mimicking Natasha’s naive gaze into the night sky.

What was to come in the days that followed? The nights the swam forth like Sonya’s flooding mind. It was damp and foggy behind those eyes yet somehow so dry, so cracked and rough. How could one be barren yet full, bored yet entertained? It all raged like sand in the Sahara, like waves in the Pacific. Sonya closed her hazel eyes and let the ride drift her to a sleep. She wouldn’t know that the carriage would stop at their temporary residence, that she and a dozing younger cousin would be lifted out by servants and carried to their beds. She wouldn’t know of how Marya would glare at their gentle bodies sleeping peacefully while the redhead herself writhed in turmoil. 

Oh how the elderly woman shook and how her bones rattled vigorously in the Russian cold. The streaks of white hair that bloomed from her temples that gave away the same mind numbing agony she was in, the same that Sonya would shift about in. A pain, truly, a pain to deal with those miserable thoughts. That sea of arid air that washed over in her brewing head. Pathetic migraines to Marya, but to Sonya, they were like the fabric that pulsed over her palms.

* * *

The rhythm of dawn stirred Natasha awake, it was a beautiful sound she had imagined, she could only see dawn, not actually hear its golden gloom. She didn’t mind, for what she thought up was simply enough. It felt warm to the young woman, to be alone in the blossoming sunlight with her mucky ramblings, of which she didn’t share with many. For a moment she believed her thoughts were singing to her, but brushed the hums away with a stretch of her arms and yawn cooling out of her mouth. She rose, from the sunlit sheets and placed her palms against the ruffled cloths and sighed, smoothing out their folds completely. Her eyes wandered to the window, letting the light seep into those deep eyes, making them shine with an amber glow.

Soon enough her body followed her gaze and away she went to the sill, placing her palms against the frame and letting the warmth of the white wood melt against her hands. Natasha enjoyed the feeling of touch, that little fizzle of sense that never quite overwhelmed her, yet neither underwhelmed either. 

As the goddaughter perched herself upon the window her view caught an unfamiliar sight, perhaps it was her imagination she immediately thought. It was a blur, she decided it must’ve been a figment, pure nothingness. And moved on from the clear glass and went about her morning business.

She heard the door open gently and a maid stood before her with a soft smile, Natasha returned the smile and nodded, letting herself be taken care of by the sweet woman. Letting the nightly garments drift away by another woman’s hands and slightly gasping at the touch water upon her shoulders. It did not help that the weather was a withering winter outside that chilled the liquid indoors. The washing sent shivers up her spine and dots of goosebumps appeared on her arms. Poor girl seemed to not just shudder from the water, but from the new thoughts that bubbled within her.

It was awfully quiet as she wondered what the day would be like, what the opera would be like later in the evening. The question of what she would do the rest of the day still brewed and rolled off her tongue towards the servant, “Do you perhaps know what my godmother has planned for today? Other than the opera?”

The servant nodded, muttering about how the grand dame arranged for Sonya to have a fitting while instead Natasha would arrive at the Bolkonsky’s, to have tea or something of the sort with the in-laws. Particularly, the Princess Mary, the shy sister of her fiancé.

At this news, Natasha’s eyes widened with a certain frigid touch as another gasp tumbled from her lips as the wetness made her shiver, “Meeting them? So soon? Oh dear…”

Nodding, the maid finished up and helped the shivering woman into an outfit suited for the weather while meeting the expectations of a lunch with Mary. But Natalya cocked her head a bit, “Is this not a bit much? Won’t it be warmer inside their manor?”

“I’m afraid not, Countess Rostova.”

“Surely they keep the fireplace up?”

“Trust me, ma’am. The Bolkonsky manor is quite unwelcoming.”

This simply made the young woman fidget with her fingers, now dreading the idea of continuing the day, wishing she could rewind to the delicate sunny air she awoke to. Wanting to twist backwards into the slight sunlight that coated her thoughts and warmed her body. A body that felt rather frosted and now was coated with goose flesh that didn’t seem to fade away. Not even as the white gloves were pulled upon the shaky hands of Natasha, it felt like she was being doused in snow, her body painted with snowflakes that even adorned her hair in the shape of a little hair accessory. 

She was led out the room and down the stairs, didn’t grasp onto the railing out of fear that it would freeze her bones. Her eyes looked up to see Sonya and Marya sitting at the dining table already eating. Though truth be told, Sonya looked pale and it was if her eyes were glossed with dread as she stared at the untouched meal, only daring to sip her tea as she felt Marya’s frigid gaze pour over her being like ice. To Sonya’s delight, she lifted her eyes towards her dear cousin who brightened up the awkward air for them all.

“Good morning, Natasha. Sleep well?”

Natasha nodded in response to Sonya who smiled peacefully as the young woman made her way down further, to look at Marya with her own smile. Her godmother looked up as her fingers traced the edge of the teacup as she took a sip before placing it down, speaking with a hint of tiredness, “Hello Natasha, have a biscuit before going off to the Bolkonsky’s? Yes?” 

The goddaughter sat down beside her cousin, she paused before deciding she had plenty of time before she was to meet with the in-laws.

* * *

Pale fingers pressed against each other, rosy hands that belonged to the fading Princess Mary clutched dearly against any surface they could find. Lately, the poor woman was stumbling about her in worries, those worries being herself and her father. That ailing old man, such a terrible man that aged cruelly and haunted his own daughter. Mary wishes dearly for a visitor, one that wasn’t the old man that stood in the shadows with red rimmed eyes glaring at her from hallways. To be fair, old Bolkonsky was just as fragile as his daughter. The princess had droopy eyes that widened at any slight notion, even at the sound of her own breath. Everything made the woman flush and skitter in fright away from what had spooked her in the manor. She grew accustomed to the darkness, to the coldness of the place she called home, it was sickly to watch such a woman be frightened of her own shadows yet welcomed what seemed a blizzard in her heart.

Perhaps it was her way of making up for letting her brother go into his blizzard, letters becoming scarce, soul becoming tattered in the snowy storms that swarmed them both. 

Though Mary had other things to frighten herself over, such as the arrival of his soon to be wife, Natalya. Oh the plain Princess had never seen the Countess but the way Andrey spoke about her made Mary believe her to be a beautiful young lady. A beautiful young lady thought back the woman. What was she in comparison to a beautiful young lady, most likely dull and with skin so white it almost appeared grey, flecks of a rosy colour that painted over the frosted joints of Mary. It was pitiful, she was pitiful, perhaps Natalya would not mock her for her simplistic ways but instead pity her. 

Yes perhaps that would be the case, thought the woman as her eyes drifted away from a mirror and towards the entrance of the house where knocking and shuffling could be heard. Her eyes widened as Natalya was introduced and entered the parlor, making eye contact with herself. The sight could only force Mary to let out a very meekly pronounced word.

“Oh, hello…”

“Hello.”

The Countess immediately took notice of the Princess standing so hauntingly at the top of the stairs, as the sister of her love soon rushed down, Natasha flinched, suddenly feeling the winter air close away behind her, and settle into her skin. Natasha's murky eyes watched the woman swiftly step down, taking note of how Mary wore darker dresses. How Mary had this light blonde hair that looked like sand in the blackness of the manor, but knew it would look like honey if the woman stepped into the sun. But at the moment all Natasha could see was how this woman whisked away from inky shadows to reveal how pale her skin was, she could’ve sworn Mary was a ghost that came to spook her if not for the bright blue eyes. Those eyes were far more saturated than the rest of the colours that adorned the Princess’ being, they were hauntingly charming, unnerving even from how beautifully blue they simply were.

“Natalya, hello…”

The Countess watched how Mary’s rosy lips moved, they were slightly chapped from the winter, her skin seemed dry yet smooth with how pale it was.

“I must insist you come this way? I’ll ask a servant to prepare some tea?”

Hesitating before placing her bony hand upon Natasha’s shoulder, Mary smiled. That smiled faded as she heard the Countess’ shock at the feeling of a skeletal palm pressing against a clothed shoulder. So Mary retreated her hand, to instead guide her in the proper direction.

Now with that reaction from Natasha, the Princess folded up her heart, sinking into herself, perhaps the tea would help, but for now, she let Natasha wander about the parlor with her in silence. A thought appeared for Mary that she let out quietly, “ Perhaps… You would like to see the enclosed garden in the manor? The plants are all quite dead since it’s winter but still.”

Natasha lightened up, “I would love to see it, dear Mary.”

And so Mary led the young woman through a rather blackened hallway, making the nerves of the Rostova woman prickle, her inky pupils narrowed as she felt the rush of polar winds brush against her neck and cheeks, this corridor made her shudder quite a bit. Would it be worth walking through these shadows just to gaze upon some rotten flowers. She closed her eyes as she walked quickly with Mary, terrified of the air around her and slightly dreading even coming to this horrid manor. Though when she peeked open once more, it was more of a relief rather than disappointment to the Countess. Relief in a cold rush was what washed over Natasha as she laid her eyes upon withering and withered leaves and petals.

But what she found even more curious, was that she didn’t shudder at the sight of wilting plants, that she didn’t ask to depart, no, she did not do such thing. Instead, she left Mary’s side and let her eyes guide her path now. Crouching down before a bed of dying flowers. Then looking back at the Princess, who now had widened eyes and her thin brows pushed upward.

“Oh! Natalya, come I’ll fetch a servant to look amongst the snow? Gather flowers from somewhere else?”

Natasha faintly smiled, with a faint chuckle as well, “Nonsense, I quite like it.”

Fidgeting, Mary sighed, “Oh.. Well if you must let me join you? Do it for you?”

As Andrey’s sister walked towards Natasha, the shorter woman lightly plucked a single flower out, then swiftly rose from the snow to bump into the blonde woman above. The contact made the Countess stumble backwards, dropping the flower as her hand went to her face to feel the sting of where they had hit, a little bloody nose that had spilled against her lips as well, but luckily not upon her white dresses.

Immediately Mary began to usher out apologies as she helped Natasha back inside, leaving the drops of blood within the snow. Though she lifted the young lady’s head so she could take one of her long fingers, and brush it against the blood on her lips, gently cleaning it up, letting the droplets seep into her skin. Natasha’s brows furrowed as she insisted they go inside so Mary wouldn’t stain her lovely fingers. But Mary simply gave an odd smile but nodded, rushing her inside the manor.

Though leaving behind crimson and blue petals which frosted over in the winter that brewed outside.

* * *

Once again inside, Natasha shivered but let out a sigh, “I hope you saw what was left of the flower I had picked.”

“I did indeed.”

“They reminded me of your eyes, it was why I had even bent down.”

This gesture made the Princess blush, but unfortunately this was perhaps the only engaging conversation that they had, for the odd pair sat in silence at a table. Each woman perched on edge and fear, fear of the other woman. Fear of what the other woman thought. And once enough fear brews, comes the nasty thoughts that plague one’s mind, hideous snakes that slither their way into perception. One would say the meeting was awkward, not ugly. But here was an ugly sight, for Mary was hushed up, she squinted her long eyes, avoiding looking at the Countess for she was not one to talk about appearances or mannerisms. But she couldn’t help but think how lovely Natasha was, how she adorned herself with white fabrics and accessories to come prancing inside this manor. Mary didn’t mean to judge, but she thought how awfully brazen that decision was, who was this little lady that was to be married to her brother. How on earth did they attract one another, frankly she ought to put the young Countess in her place before it was too late, and entered a rash woman that seemed to be keening with gossip and ugly ideals herself. 

Perhaps the Princess envied Natasha, perhaps she was jealous of the youth and beauty that was bestowed upon Countess Rostova. She wondered how her mind even got so damp with sickly rude images painted of this woman she barely knew. But the same happened to Natasha, as she though how queer this plain lady was. How this woman was much like a skeleton that tried horribly to fit into society but couldn’t, as it was a skeleton. Who was this woman with a wandering gaze that couldn’t seem to meet her own. For a lady with elegant sapphires for eyes, she sure didn’t know how to use them properly. Was there even a proper way to look with your eyes was what Natasha thought, if she couldn’t fix that watchful look, at least Mary could stop those bad habits of fidgeting her fingers, or sitting quite hunched only to straighten and let out a horrid crackle of bones that made Natasha want to cry and hurl.

At last a servant hurried in with tea, now at least Natasha had an excuse for not conversing with the woman beside her. She held the cup close to her lips, not quite drinking its contents yet. Drinking in her surroundings, she looked around with a creeped out curiosity. 

Her eyes fixated upon a painting of the Bolkonsky family, when they were some years younger as she could see from their mother being in the portrait. Natasha looked upon Andrey, how careful each stroke of his hair had been, it was a quite large piece of artwork that hung above where the grand staircase parted. She admired him from afar, a smile crept upon her face, seeing him with that same stern look melted her away, it was a look similar to the one he gave when they had met a year ago, stern but with the hint of friendliness. Next to him was Mary, she noticed how much more youthful the Princess looked back then, before grief of their Mother’s death ripped the family’s soul.

And suddenly, her heart wound up, a pang of pity launched itself into Natasha, her brows furrowed and she looked down. She didn’t dare look up at their mother, or glance at their father, who she noticed had a grip on Mary in the painting. Who was the Countess to judge her fiancé’s sister, Natasha heard a shy voice.

“Ah, the family portrait… Quite pretty is it not.”

“It’s gorgeous.”

Mary smiled, “She was too.”

“Pardon?”

“Our mother. She was really gorgeous.”

“You miss her don’t you.”

“Indeed I do…”

“My condolences.”

“No need, she no longer worries me.”

Natasha hummed gently, taking a sip of the tea at last, but it did not have a single trace of warmth. In fact, it had an odd rustic taste to it, odd tea for an odd meeting. Though what was even more so peculiar, Natasha decided, was the coloration of the tea, it looked quite scarlet, though too dark to tell.

“Say, Mary?”

“Hm?”

“What’s in this tea?”

At the question, Mary chuckled gently, “Oh, you’re quite funny you know that.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed, her eyes held a certain distraught emotion within them, worry swirled around in those dark pools. What did the Princess mean by that.

“Where is your father? I expected him to-“

Cut off by Mary’s finger, “Oh! You’ve got something on your lips, here…”

A pale thumb brushed against her mouth as Mary leaned closer, Natasha’s eyes grew wide, not at the sight of this woman being so intimate when earlier she seemed distant, but also at the sight of a man at the top of the stairs, glaring down upon the girls.

Natasha’s question was answered.


End file.
